


The Raven to War

by thewarlocksbitch



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Multi, Trigger Warning - Abuse, adam is patroclus, gansey is kind of achilles, pynch - Freeform, ronan is also kind of achillies, the rest is still somewhat in the works, this is pretty much the gang in the song of achilles/the trojan war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 10:15:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19316116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewarlocksbitch/pseuds/thewarlocksbitch
Summary: inspired by the song of achilles by madeline miller (my absolute favorite book), this is a work in which Adam is like Patroclus, Gansey and Ronan share Achilles' characteristics, Noah is like Automedon (Achilles' charioteer), and I won't address Blue yet as she might not be appearing for a while. Themes from the Raven Cycle such as dreaming and magic are abound. Gansey is as weird as ever and Ronan may or may not be a mythical creature. Gansey and Adam have ponies, which will probably not be significant to the plot of the story at any point but I had to include it because it's cute.trigger warning: Adam is abused by his father in this work. It does not happen many times, but it does happen and it is discussed at least once.





	The Raven to War

**Author's Note:**

> a few know, but I can guess that the majority of those who will read this have never interacted with me and/or don't care to keep tabs on my life (I don't blame you, because I don't care to either) so a quick note from me! I recently logged onto here and onto tumblr for the first time in about a year. I missed writing very much and hated that I abandoned so many works (this being one of them). Some of you have encouraged me to continue my fic "I will be your: hands, eyes, heart" so of course I worked on this one first, and eyed IWBYHEH guiltily the entire time. I hope this first chapter can hold those waiting for the next chapter of IWBYHEH while I try to figure out where I'm going with it. I promise that I'm trying. I really appreciate the comments and support for that fic, and I don't want it to stay unfinished. I hope to have an update for you guys soon. Until then, I hope you like this new fic! I've had it in my drafts for a year or two, so let me know what you think?
> 
> I appreciate you all! Thank you
> 
> p.s. if you have any ideas for a title, let me know! "The Raven to War" is just a placeholder
> 
> p.p.s. no one edited this but me, and I haven't written much in the past year, so forgive any suck-y-ness please?

ADAM PARRISH WAS not loved by the gods.

He learned very early in his life that he had not been blessed like the other princes his father wished him to be. He was small and skinny, unintimidating and easily pushed around. He was not fast, nor was he skilled with weapons, despite his fathers’ great encouragements. Every day he came back from hours upon hours of training, sweaty and bruised and weak from exertion, and his father only despaired of him more for it.

_This is not what a prince should be._

He grew up alongside this feeling, his constant discontent. His father's kingdom was vast, and rich, but for all that wealth there was no one for Adam to share it with. He spent his days with the king: training in soldiery, learning the arts of music and carving, being warned not to fidget or speak at the dinner table as he watched his mother pick at the bread on her plate, his father watching them both.

Adam couldn’t remember ever taking a single act of rebellion against his father. He couldn’t remember ever wanting to. He had grown up in a world where his father was as strong as the gods, and his earthly proximity made him more terrifying than even them.

Adam had resigned himself long ago. He didn't expect this trip to change anything.

He was traveling with his father to Phthia, a small kingdom just a few days’ ride from home. Adam didn’t know much of the kingdom, but he did know that its king and queen were rumored to be genial and kind, loved by the gods and all their people. This was very rare: those loved by the gods were famous for setting themselves high above other mortals.

Adam did not know the exact reason for this trip, and he knew not to ask questions.

His father had mentioned in crass aside that king Gansey fostered young boys, exiles and orphans, mostly. Adam thought it possible that his father meant for him to be fostered alongside them. It would make more sense than any other theory; he’d never travelled with his father before this.

Adam could easily list reasons his father might have for fostering him away from home, but none of them more pertinent than they would have been years ago.

Of course, there was the matter of his father being indebted to the Ganseys.

Adam pet the soft hairs on his pony’s shoulder. He thought of home. He thought of Phthia. He wasn't sure if he hoped to be fostered or not. He wasn’t sure about much at all.

When they reached Phthia, everything happened very fast and all at once. Servants ran out to take the horses; one lifted Adam from his pony and set him on the ground. His father handed him their gift to present to the king and queen. It was a small mixing bowl, and its cold smoothness soothed Adam's chafed palms.

The mixing bowl was inlaid with silver and gold, the designs on it simple and wonderful. It depicted the story of the king and queen’s son, Prince Richard Campbell Gansey III. There were many rumors surrounding his birth, and all could be surmised simply as this: favored by the gods, loved and wanted by his parents and all the people of their kingdom, Richard III’s birth was preceded by promises of fruitfulness, predictions of prosperity. His life from the very beginning had been blessed, by gods and mortals both.

Adam felt his father’s eyes on the bowl, and then on Adam himself. He felt his cheeks burn with shame. There were no such stories about him.

They were led up a stone pathway bordered on one side by lush forest and on the other by pale gray rock that loomed over the crashing ocean waves. Young boys played in the fields. The air was thick with salt. Adam’s sandals scraped tiredly over stone steps as they entered the castle. It was very hot.

The servants that led them to the throne room were silent, but Adam could hear whispers in the hallway as they walked by, hushed excitement exchanged between those loitering in their wake. He lifted his chin and refused to look like he belonged anywhere other than where he was.

The throne room was elaborate, draped with rich cloth and well-dressed attendants. Sitting at the end of the room was the king and queen, and the prince on a smaller chair beside them. Adam followed his father to the thick rug at their feet and knelt.

“King Parrish,” Adam’s father announced himself.

It was Adam’s turn. He held the bowl out in front of him and placed it at their feet. “Prince Adam.”

The king and queen stood. Adam could feel their son staring at him.

“There is no need to kneel,” king Gansey said, his voice warm, handsome, effortlessly grand. “Welcome to Phthia.”

He extended a hand. Adam’s father rose and grasped it. He then more gently held the queens’.

The prince stood and walked over to Adam. “You don’t need to kneel, either,” he said, holding out a hand. “I think you’ll soon learn that we aren’t extremely formal here.”

Adam got up on his own, then reluctantly shook the other prince’s hand. He smelled of mint and salt. “I’m Gansey,” he said. “Wanna play?”

“Just Gansey?” Adam asked. He felt uncomfortable at the bareness of it.

“Just Gansey,” the prince repeated, smiling brightly.

Adam looked at his father, the barest of glances. But Gansey was observant.

“Our parents need to discuss things that have nothing to do with us,” he said. “They won’t mind if we go off and play for a while.”

Adam looked at Gansey, shocked. He would never speak for an adult like Gansey just had, and especially not for his own father. He’d be slapped for even suggesting he had any amount of real authority. He was too scared to look at any of the adults in the face.

“Yes, go on, Adam,” the queen said. “Gansey has time to show you around before dinner.”

Gansey grinned, bright as the sun. He hugged both of his parents and bounded towards the door.

Adam stepped closer to his father. He stared down at his own feet. “Is it okay if I go?” he asked quietly.

Adam’s father gestured dismissively. “Go.”

Adam headed towards the door, not believing this so easily won freedom. Surely, he would pay for it later. But _now…_

Gansey jumped at Adam from behind the door. “Come on!” he shouted, too loud. “There’s so much for you to see.”

“Okay,” Adam said.

He was relieved when Gansey, adamant about telling Adam the history of each wall and fixture they passed, chose to walk instead of run.

+

“How was your journey here?” Gansey asked politely. They were outside now, walking across a great span of green that had stables, training grounds, housing for the fostered boys, and, at its very edge, the cliffs that lead to the sea.

“It was alright,” Adam said. “It was very long.”

In the opposite direction was a quiet beach, where the gentle slope of the grass gave way to pink sand. Adam could see boys running and playing there.

Gansey followed his gaze. “Those boys are fosters. They always have free time before dinner. There are foster girls, too, but they’re not outside very much.”

“I didn’t know there are girls fostered here,” Adam said.

Gansey nodded. “There aren’t as many girls as there are boys. The boys are overseen by my father, and they live here permanently. The girls are my mothers’; they come here for some time to learn, then they usually go home to get married.”

Adam nodded as he tried to think of something to say in response, then he stopped nodding and closed his mouth after coming up with nothing. He’d never been allowed to spend time with someone his own age like this, unsupervised and free to talk about whatever they wanted. Adam didn’t know _how_ to talk about whatever he wanted.

Gansey had taken off his sandals. He swung them around his fingers by the straps as he talked. “I’ve never travelled your way,” he said. “But I haven’t travelled much. My parents usually leave me at home when they go to do business, but sometimes we all go to where there is a festival and games.”

“What games do you like to play?” Adam asked, trying to match Gansey’s easy politeness.

Gansey looked delighted to be asked. “I like to race,” he said. “And I love swimming. But I’m not very good at either.”

“Then what are you good at?” Adam asked, and immediately regretted it. He felt himself flush. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-“

Gansey laughed. “It’s okay! I don’t need to be good at something to enjoy it. As for what I’m good at, my father says I’m best with a sword.”

There was honor in being a good swordsman. That was what the rumors surrounding Gansey’s skillset boasted about. Adam didn’t understand why Gansey would waste his time with racing or swimming when he was so gifted at soldiery. He’d never been allowed to invest himself in such trivial things; if there were legends about him, he would never want to.

Gansey turned towards the stables. “I want you to see something,” he said, and took off running.

Adam followed.

The stables here were much smaller than the stables back home. There were only nine stalls, but they were spacious and clean. There must have been more somewhere else that housed all the cavalry horses.

In the first stall was Adam’s pony, Cletus. He nickered softly as Adam neared. Other horses leaned over their stall doors as the two boys walked by. Gansey pet each briefly on the nose as they passed.

In the two farthest stalls were two horses that were far more beautiful than any animal Adam had ever seen. They were tall and thickly built, and there was an intelligence in their eyes that seemed eerily human; Adam felt as if he were being appraised. Gansey led him over to the kinder looking of the two and reached up to pet its pale gold nose.

“This is Xanthos,” said Gansey giddily. He nodded to the other horse. “And Balios. They were given to my parents by the gods when they got married. They’re _immortal_.”

“No way,” Adam said, grinning. He couldn’t even feel embarrassment at seeing these horses compared to his own pony. There was nothing to be embarrassed about in the first place; Gansey wasn’t going to laugh at him at all. “They’re amazing.”

Gansey nodded enthusiastically and clapped his hands. The horses startled. “Sorry,” he said, then led Adam over to a pony in the stall on the opposite side. It stretched out its neck to meet Gansey’s palm. “And this is Bishop. She’s mine.”

A boy suddenly peeked over the edge of the stall.

“And Noah!” Gansey exclaimed. “Except he isn’t a horse.”

“Hi,” Noah said. “I’m Noah.”

“Hi,” Adam replied. “I’m Adam. What are you doing in there?”

“I was brushing Bishop,” Noah said. “But then I fell asleep.”

“Noah works in the stable,” Gansey said to Adam, his tone overly professional. “He’s very skilled with horses. He’s the only one Xanthos and Balios actually listen to.”

Noah’s pale face flushed. He ducked down behind the stall door. “Shush, Gansey,” he mumbled.

“It’s true!” Gansey said. “Do you want to come with us to the beach? Adam doesn’t have one back at home.”

“Home?” Noah popped back up, still red to the ears. “Where are you from?”

“Icadia,” Adam told him.

“Are you going to be fostered here?” Noah asked.

Gansey looked at Adam, his eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know,” Adam said, and pet Bishop to avoid meeting their curious gazes. Cletus whinnied from down the hall. “Maybe.”

“Well,” Gansey said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We’ll find out tonight, I’m sure. Are you coming, Noah?”

Noah’s expression turned sullen. “I don’t want him to splash me again.”

“Who?” Adam asked.

“No one,” Gansey said. He made a twirling motion near his ear. “Noah spends too much time alone with the horses.”

“Don’t make fun, Gansey,” Noah said, but he was smiling.

Gansey knocked his fist playfully and gently against Noah’s temple. “See you later.”

+

Adam followed Gansey down to the cliffs. There was a beach here, much quieter than the one Adam had seen the boys playing on earlier. It was hidden entirely from view by the cliffs; he was alone with Gansey and the sea.

“Be careful,” Gansey warned him, as he put his sandals back on. “Some of the rocks are unstable.”

Adam accepted this in silence. He followed Gansey’s steps exactly, his arms held out for balance, his sandals scraping on the knife's-edge of the rocks. The winds ripped at him from overhead, and the waves crashed against the shore below.

Gansey leapt from the last rock to the sand, wild like the civilian boys who ran around on festival days. Adam leapt down too. He felt giddy, like his skin was jumping from his bones, like he belonged to his heart instead of his mind for once.

Gansey grinned at him. He kicked his sandals off. Adam kicked his own off, too, to lie forgotten in the sand - carelessly - as he had never done before.

“My mother hates me going barefoot everywhere,” Gansey explained. “So, I have to carry those around even though I hardly ever use them. I’m sure she knows I do it.”

Adam smiled. “I guess she doesn’t hate it too much, then.”

Gansey shrugged. “Guess not.” He turned and faced the sea. “Adam, there’s something I want to show you.” He started for the waves.

Eager and excited, Adam quickly followed.

They were only ten steps down the beach when the sound of a bell being rung echoed from the castle.

“ _Darn_ it,” said Gansey, with the desperate and unadulterated regret only a boy of ten could muster.

“Does that mean it's time for dinner?” Adam asked.

Gansey nodded glumly. “We’d better go.”

+

The dining hall was full to bursting by the time Adam and Gansey arrived, just a few minutes later. Everywhere foster boys jostled themselves and each other on rough wooden benches, and visiting nobles and courtiers put their conversations on hold to find their seats. Servants rushed around, so busy with finishing the last touches of the evening that they failed to notice the two princes in their midst. Adam quickly moved out of the way as one rushed past him, her arms precariously balancing a platter of wine and cheeses.

Gansey grinned at him. “It’s always like this,” he said. He grabbed Adam’s hand and led him to the high table, where their parents and a select few others sat.

Gansey went to his mother's side, and Adam went across the table to his father. They sat, and food was brought to them. Adam’s father’s hand was a fist around his fork on the table. He was not smiling.

Anxiously, Adam picked at the bread on his plate. He knew better than to ask what they had been discussing, or to even talk at all. He would just have to wait. But that was something he was good at.

Gansey set his cup down with a loud clunk. “Is Adam going to be staying here?” he asked his parents. “I quite like him a lot.”

Adam huffed out a surprised breath and hoped desperately that no one had heard it.

Neither of Gansey’s parents answered immediately, so Adam let himself examine their expressions. They were pleasant and mild, either unaffected by or ignoring the unpleasantness of Adam’s father. They seemed to be waiting.

Adam’s father drank deeply from his wine and set it on the table. The noise it made was much louder than it had been when Gansey had done the same.

“You’ll be fostered here,” he said to Adam.

Adam waited for his father to say more. To explain, perhaps. Why he’d chosen to leave Adam here. Whether Adam would ever see him again. But the king of Icadia said nothing.

Adam looked down at his plate, and soon the silence was filled with the easy, non-inclusive talk of adults. Gansey sent him a horribly conspicuous look every three seconds.

Adam wasn’t sure if he felt abandoned, or relieved, or both. He wished he could go off alone to think, to sort through his feelings and place them in their respective, sensible compartments in his mind.

He caught Gansey’s eye for a brief moment, then looked down at his plate again.

His father briefly touched his shoulder as dinner drew to a close. “I’ll be packing my things for my trip home,” he said. “Come by my rooms before dark.”

The few hours before dark gave Adam and Gansey time to return to the beach, but Adam slipped into the crowd before the other boy could reach him.

He found himself exploring the quieter parts of the castle, glad for the solitude. When alone he could dismantle himself to the bare necessities. He shed the parts of him that existed for others in order to exist for himself.

This castle was very different to the one Adam had called home. The floor was made of stone, and the walls were lined with ornate, spiraling columns that disappeared into the tiled ceiling. Adam ran his hand along them as he walked. His sandals rasped against the rough floor.

The wind ripped through the archways and windows. It smelled overwhelmingly of the sea, at once thrilling and sickening.

Adam found a storage closet and closed himself inside. He sank down to the floor, his back pressed against the wall. There were jars of preserves and grains on either side of him, and it smelled of dust. He was well hidden and wholly alone.

He had many places like this, at home. Closets and dark corners, and the narrow space between the two towering oaks at the very edge of his mother’s garden. Places that no one knew about, where he was free to unashamedly be himself. Weak, awkward, unfit. There was nothing negative about him when there was no one to point it out; he became as unnoticeable as a servant.

There was some shame in hiding. Adam kept it to himself.

+

Adam didn’t fall asleep, but he did zone out, his gaze blurry and unfocused on the stone ceiling above him. When he came back to, he was unsure of how much time had passed. He got up and opened the door.

Nighttime light filled the hallway. Adam could see through a window that the moon was high in the sky.

_Come by my rooms before dark_ , Adam remembered his father saying, and dread filled his chest.

But still, he didn’t rush to see his father. He lingered for a moment in the hallway, looking around and listening to the quiet sounds of servants and guards going about their business: sweeping, changing out firewood, marching along the torch-lit halls. It sounded like home, and that put some heart back into Adam. He took in a steadying breath before continuing down the hallway. He was at his limit in waiting this long; any longer would have been inexcusable.

A servant noticed him wandering and led him to his father’s rooms. Adam waited until they had gone to open the door.

His father was standing near the bed, his back to Adam. He turned and looked Adam up and down, displeased. “You’re late.”

Adam’s mouth habitually flooded with excuses. He tried to make his voice even. “I’m sorry, father. I got lost.”

His father started for him. “Got lost? Were you paying attention at all?”

“No, father,” Adam said, panicked. “I-”

He was never ready for the first blow. A hundred times his father had hit him, and he was never ready for it.

Adam crumpled to the cold stone floor. He’d been hit in the jaw. Distantly, he noticed the taste of blood on his tongue. He’d bitten it.

“Get up,” his father said, standing above him. He sounded tired.

Adam did not get up. He _couldn’t_. He was frozen, and hurt. It was not the physicality of these encounters that hurt him, but the fear. It ate him up, stole him, became him. He braced himself against the floor, gasping.

He hadn't been born this way, like what was thought of him, like what his father said. It was not in his blood, or in his soul; he’d learned it.

He’d been beaten into accidental mannerisms. Like a prospective guard dog turned feral.

King Parrish leaned down and grabbed hold of his son. He hauled him up, and just as quickly pushed him away. Adam was forced to find his footing or fall again. He caught himself against the opposite wall.

His father turned back to his luggage. “You’re here to become stronger, and to make yourself useful,” he said. “This is where the war will be. There is nothing for you in Icadia.”

Adam swallowed past the dryness in his throat. It took everything in him not to hold onto his jaw and cry. “Father-”

“Next time,” his father said, “you won't fall.”

Adam held himself very still. When his father said nothing else, he relaxed a little. He waited for another few seconds - just in case - then recognized his father’s words for what they were: a dismissal.

Adam took one last look at his father’s back before letting himself out.

The door closed behind him. There were no guards posted in the hallway, no one there to see his eyes fill with tears. He started walking down the hallway. His vision blurred. He walked faster, and then he was running blindly, wildly. He hadn’t asked where he’d be sleeping. He didn’t know where he was expected to go, where he was supposed to be. Everything became suddenly, brutally real. Icadia was not his home anymore. This place was. This kingdom of rocks and salt, nothing like the mildness of home, nothing like the dry grass and sweet air and old, familiar trees.

Everything was closing in. The walls choked him. He needed to get outside.

+

Adam found himself in a courtyard, curled up on a bench, his knees pulled tight to his chest. He couldn’t tell if he was crying anymore, or if his jaw even hurt. He just knew that he was less of himself than he had been before. With every hit, his father killed something crucial inside him.

A pebble skittered across the path in front of Adam. He startled and looked up.

“Hey,” Gansey said, his voice very soft, as if he were talking to a much younger boy. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Adam furiously wiped at his eyes. It was probably too dark for Gansey to really see anything, anyways. “I was with my father.”

Gansey sat on the bench next to Adam but left a comfortable amount of space between them. “So, you said goodbye, then?” he asked.

Adam shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know when I’ll see him again.”

_Next time, you won’t fall._

Gansey nodded slowly. “My parents wouldn't discuss it with me - they think it’s not my concern - but it’s clear that your situation is different.”

Adam let out a shaky breath.

“I mean…” Gansey said, decidedly not looking at Adam, and it made Adam simultaneously hate and like him. “You’re not an orphan, or an exile. Not like the other boys. You’re still a prince, like me. You still have a family.”

Adam nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. The last thing he wanted was for Gansey to see him cry.

Gansey stood and faced Adam fully, his hands on his hips. For a moment, standing like that, he looked like a hero, looked exactly like what all the stories said about him, bright and impossible and strong. Then he dropped his arms to his sides, somewhat shyly, and was just a boy again.

“There’s a room being set up for you, separate from the other boys, near my own,” Gansey said. “But it’s not ready yet. You’ll stay in my room for now, if that’s okay. I had the servants bring in an extra bed for you.”

Adam nodded and got up. Gansey just looked at him for a moment, vital and strange in the moonlight. Then he turned on his heel, and Adam followed him back into the castle.

+  
Gansey’s room was simply furnished but was, unmistakably, a prince’s room. A large canopy bed took up much of the space, leaving little for the table and chairs by the window, and Adam’s cot against the far wall. A soft carpet spread across the floor in front of the fireplace. Gansey added another log to the dwindling flame on his way to the adjoining bathroom.

It was painfully obvious that he was trying to give Adam space, but Adam appreciated it anyways. He could hear Gansey getting himself ready for bed; the soft rustle of clothes, the clean sound of water in the sink. He was almost sure that Gansey was doing his best to exaggerate these sounds, to make it very clear that he was not trying to overhear whatever Adam might be doing.

Adam appreciated it, but he felt invaded, nonetheless. He had very limited experience with sharing a private space like this. He hovered by the doorway, unsure of what to do with himself, scared to make the slightest sound. Finally, Gansey emerged from the bathroom, and looked very surprised to find Adam in the exact place he had left him.

“Do you…” Gansey said nervously, “need to bathe?”

“No,” Adam said just as nervously back. He meant to say something else, but his mind went blank.

Gansey nodded thoughtfully. He walked over to Adam, and Adam thought, _this is probably the first time in my life that I’ve met a prince shorter than me._

Gansey asked, “Are you tired?”

Adam shook his head. “No.”

Gansey nodded again, smiling now. “Good. Me neither. Can I show you something?”

Adam nodded in response, mimicking him like a parrot with an extremely limited vocabulary.

Gansey didn’t seem to need or want any more of an answer. He went over to his bed, then dropped to his hands and knees and reached underneath it. He emerged a second later holding a strange, cubic object. He sat on his bed and, when Adam didn’t immediately follow, patted the space beside him.

Adam hesitated for a moment, but curiosity quickly won. He sat beside Gansey and looked at the object. It was made of a milky, shimmery kind of glass, except for a small square on each face that was an unnatural, swallowing black. It looked like it shouldn’t be real.

“Here,” Gansey said, opening one of Adam’s hands and placing the object in it. It was cool on Adam’s palm, and much heavier than he’d imagined. Something deep inside him thrilled at the strangeness of it.

“What is it?” he asked Gansey.

“My friend made it for me,” Gansey said. “And it’s… easier to show you than to explain. One second.”

Gansey crawled off the bed and went over to the window. The moon was at its highest mark in the sky now - Adam must have lost track of time. Gansey pulled the curtain shut, and the room fell into complete darkness.

“Okay.” Gansey’s voice was incredibly soft from all the way across the room. “Now, lift it up to your face, and blow into one of the black squares.”

Feeling a little awkward, Adam lifted the strange object. He couldn’t see at all in the darkness; it was a strange sensation to know that his hands were right there in front of him, but unable to be seen. Adam waited a moment, but Gansey did not laugh. Adam hadn't expected him to, really. He could feel the truth in Gansey’s excitement, erratic and tense in the air between them. And he could feel it in himself, too; his eagerness left no room for distrust.

Adam blew into the cube, and the universe exploded into the room. Stars and planets hurtled through the air, singing with comets and shining with constellations Adam knew by heart. Adam gasped, and almost dropped the cube, but then Gansey’s hand was warm on his own, taking it, and with the other he was pointing Adam’s gaze to the floor below.

It was the ocean.

Adam gasped again; he couldn’t help it. Gansey giggled.

Beneath his bare feet where the floor had just been was bottomless blue water. It was lit by the stars above, and reflected them, so that luminescent whorls of water carried the impression of the stars across themselves. The floor – the entire room – had been made redundant. The fact of it had been obliterated by whatever this was; it felt more real than anything that could be touched.

Adam couldn’t swim, but he had the sudden urge to slip into the water and let himself sink until he touched the bottom. He wanted to look up and see the stars in double. He wanted to disappear inside them.

He reached a hand out. The possibility of falling forever felt very real. Starlight chased itself across his skin. He felt enraptured, feverish. He had never seen anything like this before.

Adam tried to touch the surface, but there was nothing to touch - no shocking wet, no cold, grainy salt. He stuck his whole hand in, and watched the waves move around it, but felt nothing. It was only air.

Adam looked at Gansey. His eyes were lit with countless galaxies; stardust condensed in his hair. “I don’t understand.”

Gansey smiled at him. Adam smiled back.

“It’s not real,” Gansey told him, “at least not physically.” His voice was quiet, as if, despite its new vastness, the room could barely contain anything more than a whisper. “It’s a projected memory, that’s how my friend explained it.”

“It’s magic,” Adam said, beyond awed. This wasn’t the magic of the gods, of prophecies and myths, fate and sacrifice. It was just _magic_. Bright, whimsical, inconceivable in its own reality. It was too much for Adam to process, too sheer with energy and feeling.

It almost made Adam homesick. These were the same stars that shone over Icadia, the same constellations he loved to trace with his finger from his bedroom window.

He didn’t understand. And he so badly wanted to.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Gansey said. “And I can’t explain it to you. You’ll just have to meet him.”

Adam opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again. He knew it wasn’t polite to press, but he felt somehow that he and Gansey were past being careful with their manners already.

He’d never felt like that with anyone. “Who is he?”

“My friend,” Gansey said with a smile. “Ronan.”


End file.
